The Perfect Storm

God sent a letter and used half the Mediterranean as stationery.

I never really knew much about Albert Schweitzer, except that he was a good guy, a doctor who went to Africa and won the Nobel Peace Prize in the '50s. But I did know that if I brought his name up now, the guy in Harvard Square talking to me and friend Howie was toast.

The tall man with the thin tie and upbeat Southern accent looked a little deflated. In my gut I felt sorry because he looked a little hurt, too. He wanted to reach out to me, and I was having fun with him.

"Yes," the man said, " Albert Schweitzer is going to hell for not believing in the Lord."

"Well that's unacceptable," I replied. He seemed to expect that answer, having I would imagine a lot of conversations with the same flow.

The rest of freshman year didn't do much more for my beliefs. I was summed up as a nice kid on the rowing team who knows a lot of physics and gave up Catholicism for Lent. Even after I quoted Trotsky and Kant, my mother wasn't very happy about the last bit -- leaving Catholicism. She's still a little bent out of shape about it now. She expected me to follow my own path, perhaps even imagined I would become a Republican. But converting to Judaism and becoming an Orthodox rabbi!? Well, that was not what she had in mind.

She expected me to follow my own path, perhaps even imagined I would become a Republican.

Soon after that I started putting my own religion together. It wasn't that I wanted to get listed as a new prophet; it was more to find a respite from classes at Harvard. The cathedral in Cambridge was great because the boys' choir of Boston studied there. On Sunday mornings it was beautiful to hear the voices. Sometimes as it snowed I'd sit there and wish I could go sing with them. I sang when I was younger, before becoming an altar boy. I couldn't sing now, though; I had given up a belief in God. It wouldn't be right to get up there and sing if I didn't believe the words. The whole organized religion thing did not make sense to me. So as with many of my peers, I put together a patchwork of religious icons and experiences.

INDIANA JONES

After my cathedral phase, I moved on to Tai Chi. Master Quong taught a class where I learned how to grasp the pheasant’s tail. I got into foreign movies and saw a lot of Hong Kong cinema.

I was drawn toward activism. I took Robert Cole’s' class, The Literature of Social Reflection. Flannery O'Conner, William Carlos Williams, James Agee, stories about Gandhi. This class convinced me not to go to Wall Street.

Indiana Jones influenced that decision, too. Retro clothes, leather satchels, c'mon! -- a white horse, going on a quest without killing people, and the cool whip in an Arabian bazaar! I checked to see if Harvard offered a class in whips. (I'm not joking; you can ask Howie.) In the end, the closest thing offered was knife throwing. Did Emile Zola throw knives? I didn’t think so. That's when I started to think maybe I would try and change the world.

During summer vacations I learned how to build boats on Martha's Vineyard. My parents had cottages there. During the years when "Jaws" was filmed, the huge mechanical shark was stored on the dock down the street. And guess who rented our guesthouse one summer? Steven Spielberg no less.

I met a guy there, a designer who built ocean racing wooden trimarans. He needed someone to help build these boats made almost entirely out of wood. He hired me on a trial to learn the skill. French people would show up at his workshop and show him pictures of spaceship-like crafts flying through the water. These were his own designs. Cool! After four years working for him, I began to know what I was doing.

MEETING MY WHITE HORSE

It was that summer that I first saw Rogue Wave.

She lay nearly 60 feet along the water line, and perhaps six feet above it tops, making her look like out of Star Wars. With her three pearl white parallel hulls she had a 25-foot beam. Did someone say strong presence? Think Concorde's cousin who went to sea and did very well, thank you. Rising from her main deck shot a mast shaped like an airplane wing, giving her 140 square feet of windage before she unfurled her canvas. For all her power, this was a swan in flight. Taking her out of dockage, and then bringing her around for a beam reach, she bucked and jerked forward until you had to hold on she accelerated so fast. She could do 30 knots on a good clean sea, and do it with nothing but the wind. I was in love, and I had found my white horse.

She bucked and jerked forward until you had to hold on she accelerated so fast.

All that summer we sailed her around Vineyard Sound. I gave her epoxy and red cedar, and she gave me a sparkle in the eye I still see in the mirror today.

So when a wealthy British-type guy came to buy her, my heart raced when he mentioned he would need to take delivery in Dubai, The Emirates. Holy! He asked if my boss knew anyone who could sail her over to Europe, through the Med (Ulysses, wine-colored seas -- I'm there!), down the Red Sea (as in Moses!), into the Gulf of Sudan, and then through the Straits of Hormuz (excuse me, Iran-Iraq War), and then home inside the Arabian Peninsula.

I was thrilled at the opportunity.

I raised my hand.

CONFLICT RESOLUTION IN NORTHERN IRELAND

As it turned out, I didn't get the chance to take her across the Atlantic. Something even better came along.

My sister Catherine had a friend who had done a paper on a non-violent movement in Northern Ireland that had raised quite a stir, and looked like it might make a dent in The Troubles (as the sectarian violence there was called). What if I went over and checked it out? I figured if I wanted to change the world, I had to see what worked and what didn't. I could meet up with the rest of Rogue's crew in Spain, and then take her on to Dubai. We would get to the Mideast in June, leaving extra time to go to Nicaragua for research before school started again in the fall. It sounded like a plan.

Once the kids returned to their environments, the animosity and ignorance came right back.

So after three years in Cambridge, I took the year off and flew to Belfast. I got involved with groups who did conflict resolution projects. One in particular brought Catholic and Protestant children from the city out into the countryside together to farm and do sports. It didn't seem to work so well. Once the kids returned to their environments, the animosity and ignorance came right back.

I met with lots of Catholics and Protestants. Many took an interest in trying to bring me back into believing again. I was a lot nicer than I was with Mr. Southern Accent, but I still didn't get it. I went on different retreats, read neat intellectual Christian journals, and basically did more due diligence. But I couldn’t reconcile concept like "killing a god" and the previously unscheduled Second Coming.

My mother explained that the logic of it was that you had to suspend logic, a supra-logic which understands the limits of our logic. I reread Aquinas and St. Augustine during long hikes around Dublin, and in the end gave it a rest when I kept getting confused. It seemed like there was a lot more going on in cosmology. So I moved to that for my spiritual questing for a while.

NEARLY A HURRICANE

I met up with the boat crew in Spain, and Rogue Wave was ready to sail in early spring. Repairs had been made to her mast, and the last of the stores were aboard. The owner came to visit, took us out to dinner, gave us each gifts of books and checked on the armaments. Since Rogue Wave would be sailing in the Indian Ocean, she had to have some defense against piracy. And heading for a Muslim country with guns on board seemed like the prudent thing to do. We carried semi-automatic rifles and shotguns with hollow point shells designed to pierce a boarder's hull right below the water line.

I called my mom and she asked if I had my Irish knit sweater. (I didn't.) She told me how back in Ireland the fisherman would each have a distinct pattern of cabling and stitching on their sweaters, so when their bloated, disfigured bodies washed ashore, the families could identify them. I thanked her for the information. With that we set sail for the first leg, a 600-mile trip to Sidi Bu Said, a port just outside Tunis, Tunisia.

I never imagined that my white horse would lead me to God. But she did.

Two days out from Almeria we got caught in a brewing gale driving in from the west. With hundreds of miles of sea as pitch, 30- and 40-foot waves began to form. The barometer fell. I started throwing up. The winds grew even stronger, and I threw up some more. After 10 hours it was getting dark and I got off watch; the seas had climbed to 50 feet and the winds to 60 knots (about 70 mph). By then I had thrown up everything I had ever eaten.

Two hours later, the captain called me to come back up on watch. Being an old WW2 veteran fighter pilot, he was a real stalwart who usually woke me for watch by gently squeezing my arm while reciting Beatnik poetry. Not this time. Up on deck things had gotten a lot worse.

It was like Godzilla had become a tower of water and was looking down on us.

Coming up from below I turned first toward the bow and saw something I will never forget. A black wall of water a couple of hundred feet in front of us rose upward as far as I could see, only to be lost in the most angry black mass of clouds and rain. I couldn't tell water from wind; it was all one. It was like Godzilla had become a tower of water and was looking down on us.

The captain gave me the helm and went below to wake the other two fellows. We had taken all the sails down, but with Rogue's airplane-foil mast she was still doing 15 knots. We had no sail flying and we were going 15 knots.

Alone on deck, I tried to get my bearings. The howling scream of the wind made it so I couldn't hear my own voice even while shouting. Rogue Wave was working the storm with all her strength, twisting and shuddering. I could feel it through my feet. I burst into tears as I felt her main wood beams groaning. Poor Rogue! I knew those beams, and here they were being tormented. The beautiful lines of her hull were lost in the darkness, leaving only her sounds of torment.

Then I began to notice a rhythm. Rogue Wave rose on the front of the waves coming from behind us, and we shot upwards a nearly level keel of seven stories in under six seconds. Near the top of the wave we arched forward and began surfing downward, forward and fast, crashing into the trough. The wave would find us again and raise us up its forward side, and down once more we would surf. Sometimes the movement ended when the giant wave passed underneath us, despite our speed, leaving us to fall off its back, down again into the trough, disheveled, slightly canted, and waiting for the next temporary ride.

It was a force nine gale, a tad below a hurricane, and Rogue Wave was in a grand and powerful waltz. My terror faded as I anticipated the boat's moves. My concerns for the boat faded as well. She was enjoying this as I might a hard, hard workout.

With a full heart and the happiest of eyes, I shouted: Hey storm! We are brothers, you and I!

I looked around to each side, trying to see more, feel more. As I did, my relationship to the storm changed further still. Taking a deep breath of air, I tasted the clear, clean fresh water of the rain. It was slightly chilled! I laughed, breathed in deeper, licked the rain from my lips, and started to feel strong. As I made steerage I started hearing Schiller's poem in the choral of Beethoven's ninth. Crash! Water exploded off the bow as Rogue hurtled herself deep into the forward wave. If Rogue could waltz, then I could breathe and feel strong, too.

With a full heart and the happiest of eyes, I shouted, "Hey storm! We are brothers, you and I!"

It was at that moment that I felt my voice mouth the words, "Oh my God." In that briefest instant, at a deep, intuitive level, I was forever changed.

It took me another few moments to articulate to my intuitive perception. I realized that the storm could be by chance (through the laws of quantum mechanics), and my own evolutionary existence could be by chance. But my relationship to the storm -- one of terror, awe, admiration, sublime fear, and love -- that relationship could not be the result of any chance-driven mechanism.

There was no way two unconnected products of vastly different chaos-driven mechanisms could have such an elegant, powerful and symbiotic relationship. Rather it was an expression of God, and I was feeling the unity of existence. God had sent me a letter and had used half of the Mediterranean as stationary.

The rest of the crew came on deck, and we began deploying sea anchors. There was a fear that the whole boat would flip upside down and capsize.

I thanked God for this second communique, of irony and intimacy, because in every sense, He had just capsized my own world.

Fantastic energy and rose petal softness at the same time. God cares about me. I smiled deep in my heart, helped put out the sea anchors, and then threw up some more.
Life continues, even after epiphanies. But now, there's no turning back.

Featured at Aish.com:

About the Author

Yaacov Deyo is a graduate of Harvard College, where he studied physics and economics. He received his rabbinic degree from Aish HaTorah in 1996. He is a founder of SpeedDating and Jewish Impact Films, and is presently the Managing Director for the Jewish Enrichment Center in Manhattan.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 23

(23)
Lisa Arnold,
August 25, 2009 7:53 AM

I can always count on Yaacov for inspiration

Yaacov Deyo helped change the path of my family 7 years ago. As I look for inspiration in Elul I know that all I needed to do was google his name. This story is so relevant, as it reveals G-d who is conceeled.

(22)
Moss David Posner, M.D.,
June 21, 2006 12:00 AM

Incisive and profound, lucid and inspirational.

The appropriate amalgum of art and science--chaos theory. The behavior of the ship in the context of the storm was a fractal--and Ha Shem was the strange attractor.

(21)
larry,
June 14, 2006 12:00 AM

shalom

would enjoy dialogue

(20)
A,
June 14, 2006 12:00 AM

ugh... my stomach...

oh... I'm only at my computer reading this!
I'm still filled with goose bumps...
when's the next issue?

(19)
Deb,
June 12, 2006 12:00 AM

Wow!

I was totally there with you, and I totally got it. Great tale. Great epiphany. The peace of G-d which passeth all understanding.

(18)
gladys,
June 11, 2006 12:00 AM

That was a magnificant look at the wonder and awe of God

I found yaacovs' story as a wonderous way of God communicating with all of us.
Our GOD ia an awesome GOD and with HIM there are no boundries, HE constanly seeks us out, no matter where we hide.
I know HIS HOLY PRESENCE and it changes one's soul forever. Thank you.

(17)
Anonymous,
June 11, 2006 12:00 AM

rEMINDS ME A LITTLE OF THE BOOK OF ]ONAHH

J onah was tested in the storm...but you had an amazing experience in that you didnt have to get thrown overboard or survive in the whale for three days.. you had German music and poetry.. noch ..and came up with Ha Shem in the middle of a sea storm...dont forget to spread Ha Shems message as Jonah ultimately had to do... wow..what a tale...

(16)
yonah,
June 11, 2006 12:00 AM

One of the more compelling reads Ive had in a long time. Pitch perfect descriptions. Inspiration and beauty. Thank you!

I look forward to more submissions from you.

(15)
Anonymous,
July 4, 2002 12:00 AM

Really enthralling, can hardly wait for next installment.

(14)
Anonymous,
June 30, 2002 12:00 AM

Capsizing Other People's Worlds with Words

A bit bored at the beginning of a seemingly wordy recount of an adventure. Then the wind started blowing and I had to lower the sails 'cause my mind was getting an unexpected ride to my past. Found myself inmersed in similar doubts and experiences. Then, I started surfing to my present because I was being shown my future. Quite a ride, sir! By then, the identity switch clicked, I, too, was one with all, and best of all, I didnt have to cry out to My G-D, because you had already done it for me. You received a storm and it feels as if you turned it into a hurricane for a whole bunch of us here. So, it's an: "Out with the New," and "In with the Old." Our ship is in. Tks.

(13)
marta sorkin,
June 27, 2002 12:00 AM

excellent article

really enjoyed this! Can't want for the next episode

(12)
sarah shapiro,
June 24, 2002 12:00 AM

wonderful

I'm looking forward to part 2.

(11)
Linda Gayle Cox,
June 24, 2002 12:00 AM

Incredible imagery --- superb style

My heart is pounding and I can still feel, see and smell the sea and the rain. Along with the intense spine tingling fear, excitement and awe of God's power in nature we sense in our hearts the intimate contact of a God who finds us wherever we are.

(10)
Gloria Maria Schwartz,
June 24, 2002 12:00 AM

Get thee to a publisher!

How incredibly exciting!
When is your book coming out? Please consider this fabulous journey you are on--It will help many of us "Jews by choice" to reconnect !!Yaccov Deyo- you're the Man!

(9)
,
June 24, 2002 12:00 AM

Fantastic!

Almost took my breath away. Can't wait for 2nd installment.

(8)
Elisheva,
June 24, 2002 12:00 AM

Amazing writing!

Rabbi Deyo, this was enthralling writing. I am looking forward to reading more from you!

(7)
Anonymous,
June 24, 2002 12:00 AM

I can connect to your message

I really connected in an unexplainable way, to your message of how you and the storm connected in a way that randomness could never create. I don't know why, but it moved me to read it. Maybe the soul understands more than we give it credit for.

(6)
Wayne Schlievert,
June 24, 2002 12:00 AM

Fantastic re; Yaacov Deyo

This convert Rabbi writes a portrait. Must have picked up a few pointers from Indiana Jones. Jones is not a Jewish name is it?
To capture the consentration of this fifty eight year old heart patient is something even young girls can't accomplish anymore, Get him to re-write the Mishna, it'll be a best seller.

(5)
Anonymous,
June 23, 2002 12:00 AM

Excellently written article

What an exciting read. I can't wait to read more from Yaacov Deyo. Thank you for publishing it.

(4)
Anonymous,
June 23, 2002 12:00 AM

lovely... where's the book!

I was going to send this to a friend, but then realized it's the first installment only. I'll wait to give him the whole book. Unique, uplifting, exhilirating! Love it.

(3)
Anonymous,
June 23, 2002 12:00 AM

What a read!

I am eagerly awaiting the next installment of this saga. The author's descriptive powers are surely as high as the one-hundred-foot wall of black water that he describes! Rabbi Deyo, glad you lived to tell the tale, and can't wait to hear the rest of it! Thank you!

(2)
Anonymous,
June 23, 2002 12:00 AM

what a great site. how else can a halfbred yidkid get this info in the australian bush

I grew up in an area where the closest we came to religious instruction was a fortnightly collection taken up by the salvation army. My mothers family were jewish and my fathers anglican and although I often joked about having an each way bet my study has been mostly self driven. Unfortunately my mother's father died when I was young and did not have the time to teach me all those things my father could not.

(1)
Miles Herman,
June 23, 2002 12:00 AM

Interesting ...

I know nothing about the fellow who authored this essay. I look forward to the next installment, as I find the writing style fresh and the story line interesting. I'm curious to see how he arrives at the ending ...

Since honey is produced by bees, and bees are not a kosher species, how can honey be kosher?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

The Talmud (Bechoros 7b) asks your very question! The Talmud bases this question on the principle that “whatever comes from a non-kosher species is non-kosher, and that which comes from something kosher is kosher.”

So why is bee-honey kosher? Because even though bees bring the nectar into their bodies, the resultant honey is not a 'product' of their bodies. It is stored and broken down in their bodies, but not produced there. (see Shulchan Aruch Y.D. 81:8)

By the way, the Torah (in several places such as Exodus 13:5) praises the Land of Israel as "flowing with milk and honey." But it may surprise you to know that the honey mentioned in the verse is actually referring to date and fig honey (see Rashi there)!

In 1809, a group of 70 disciples of the great Lithuanian sage the Vilna Gaon, arrived in Israel, after traveling via Turkey by horse and wagon. The Vilna Gaon set out for the Holy Land in 1783, but for unknown reasons did not attain his goal. However he inspired his disciples to make the move, and they became pioneers of modern settlement in Israel. (A large contingent of chassidic Jews arrived in Tzfat around the same time.) The leader of the 1809 group, Rabbi Israel of Shklov, settled in Tzfat, and six years later moved to Jerusalem where he founded the modern Ashkenazic community. The early years were fraught with Arab attacks, earthquakes, and a cholera epidemic. Rabbi Israel authored, Pe'at Hashulchan, a digest of the Jewish agricultural laws relating to the Land of Israel. (He had to rewrite the book after the first manuscript was destroyed in a fire.) The location of his grave remained unknown until it was discovered in Tiberias, 125 years after his death. Today, the descendants of that original group are amongst the most prominent families in Jerusalem.

When you experience joy, you feel good because your magnificent brain produces hormones called endorphins. These self-produced chemicals give you happy and joyful feelings.

Research on these biochemicals has proven that the brain-produced hormones enter your blood stream even if you just act joyful, not only when you really are happy. Although the joyful experience is totally imaginary and you know that it didn’t actually happen, when you speak and act as if that imaginary experience did happen, you get a dose of endorphins.

These chemicals are naturally produced by your brain. They are totally free and entirely healthy.

Many people find that this knowledge inspires them to create more joyful moments. It’s not just an abstract idea, but a physical reality.

Occasionally, when I walk into an office, the receptionist greets me rudely. Granted, I came to see someone else, and a receptionist's disposition is immaterial to me. Yet, an unpleasant reception may cast a pall.

A smile costs nothing. Greeting someone with a smile even when one does not feel like smiling is not duplicity. It is simply providing a pleasant atmosphere, such as we might do with flowers or attractive pictures.

As a rule, "How are you?" is not a question to which we expect an answer. However, when someone with whom I have some kind of relationship poses this question, I may respond, "Not all that great. Would you like to listen?" We may then spend a few minutes, in which I unburden myself and invariably begin to feel better. This favor is usually reciprocated, and we are both thus beneficiaries of free psychotherapy.

This, too, complies with the Talmudic requirement to greet a person in a pleasant manner. An exchange of feelings that can alleviate someone's emotional stress is even more pleasant than an exchange of smiles.

It takes so little effort to be a real mentsch.

Today I shall...

try to greet everyone in a pleasant manner, and where appropriate offer a listening ear.

With stories and insights,
Rabbi Twerski's new book Twerski on Machzor makes Rosh Hashanah prayers more meaningful. Click here to order...